


"The Great C.I.A. Caper"

by helenkacan



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Community: romancingmcshep, Established Relationship, Future Fic, Light-Hearted, M/M, Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-11
Updated: 2016-02-11
Packaged: 2018-05-19 18:12:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5976421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helenkacan/pseuds/helenkacan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takes place in 2044.</p><p>John Sheppard is on a very special mission. But he'll have to overcome the first hurdle – Rodney himself - in order to be successful in saving his long-time partner and husband.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"The Great C.I.A. Caper"

**Author's Note:**

> **Special Quote:** John was close to whining. It was not a pleasant tone from a man of his advanced years. "But, Rodney, I won't be in any danger. They just want to pick my brain for strategic purposes. No special ops or anything. I'll be staying at a very boring facility set in a valley. You can't come with me because you still have specialists to see. And the location is super-classified, so General Lorne would be personally pissed if you even think about hacking into anything as innocuous as the C.I.A.'s coffee supplies."
> 
>  **POV:** Gently omniscient POV.
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** Not mine, even though I close my eyes and clap my hands really, REALLY well.

John was close to whining. It was not a pleasant tone from a man of his advanced years. "But, Rodney, I won't be in any danger. They just want to pick my brain for strategic purposes. No special ops or anything. I'll be staying at a very boring facility set in a valley. You can't come with me because you still have specialists to see. And the location is super-classified, so General Lorne would be personally pissed if you even think about hacking into anything as innocuous as the C.I.A.'s coffee supplies."

~::~

Rodney was in a grumpy mood. No, edit that. He was in a grumpy _year_ ... and it was _all_ his doctor's fault, as far as he was concerned. Because, as Rodney kept insisting, he'd been fine until the latest CMO on Atlantis had tut-tutted and tsk-tsked one too many hundred times. About the risk of cardiovascular impairment from his hypoglycemia. About words with way too many syllables, only confirming in Rodney's mind that the study of Medicine was barely more advanced than root and berry gathering. If he'd had any choice, it would be potatoes as his root and wine aka grapes as his berry. Naturally, Dr. Liam Beckett (a nephew of a niece of Carson's – or was it the other way around - who'd been snapped up by the SGC) wasn't inclined to give him that choice. Moderation, he'd chastised Rodney, and that was even _after_ diagnosis and treatment on Earth.

Rodney had nodded stiffly, then marched out of the Infirmary. He hadn't stopped complaining for days until he'd arrived at the Gate, dragging a mildly protesting, placating John with him. Earth-leave was going to be horrible, not to mention a collosal waste of time being examined by an army of specialists. Even worse was the prospect of having Jeannie around to nag him while feeding him Very. Weird. Things. Without John by his side to at least _try_ to take his mind off his food cravings. It was enough to make an old man _want_ to die. Being 75 sucked.

He resented the fact that John had basically abandoned him - _him_ \- as soon as they'd gated to the SGC. With only a brief kiss and spoken expectation (imperative!) of a phone call ("Every single night, without fail") during the 30 days they'd be separated along with a threat of reprisals should John even faintly think of flirting with _anyone_ (young or old) during that time, Rodney finally agreed to be hustled away gently to be transported (thanks to the Athena in orbit) to his sister's house in Vancouver.

Jeannie'd had a huge smile when he'd arrived in her living room, announcing he was just in time for dinner, featuring her special "Tofu Surprise". Rodney groaned. It was going to be an excruciatingly long month.

Night 1  
When John called, it was mostly to say he'd been settling into his quarters and had gone for a long walk. It was a good time of year to be in Northern Cali. John had deliberately slipped his general location into the conversation with the intent of distracting Rodney. It should also be reassuring for Rodney to know they were in the same time zone.

Rodney, in turn, was much too quiet, except for muttering that the guest bed was more lumpy since the last time they'd visited. And lonely. Also, his stomach was rumbling. After the "Tofu Disaster", as Rodney had renamed it, Jeannie had put apple slices in yogurt out, with a sprinkle of cinnamon. Rodney had admitted the dessert wasn't "horrible", but it wasn't blue Jell-O or chocolate pudding, his all-time faves on Atlantis.

Night 6  
Rodney's mouth was still twisted in memory of the sacrilege that was Jeannie's heart-healthy version of carrot muffins. He'd watched – aghast – as she basically baked mounds of shredded carrots in a muffin tin. And that's what they'd tasted like ... stupid, shredded, slimy carrots with a few specks of flour – as if that was enough to designate them as "muffins". If he never saw a carrot again, he'd consider himself lucky. John didn't needle him, just wondered how long until he could schedule a Bugs Bunny viewing night back home. He figured Rodney would forgive him ... eventually.

Night 15  
The actual conversation was brief tonight. Rodney was worn out from all the (stupid, useless) tests to which he'd been subjected. Especially after fasting. John reassured him he was half-way to their being reunited. He lay down and let the sound of Rodney grumbling lull him to sleep.

Night 26  
"Just a few more days to go, buddy. When we get back, I'll give you a special present." John chuckled as Rodney described – in vividly vibrant and lurid detail – the only present he really wanted. Well, Jell-O, too. It was enough to propel him to suggest phone sex to Rodney. Then there was nothing but near-silence, embellished by familiar sounds and moans, even if too many miles away.

Night 30  
"See you tomorrow, Rodney. Sweet dreams." That rat. John had told Rodney he'd been too busy to call earlier, that he'd been involved in something very special, even crucial for the future of Atlantis. Rodney couldn't figure out what connection the C.I.A. would have (definitely should not, in his opinion as a Canadian) on a recently declassified Atlantis (took the SGC long enough). So he got ready for bed, his bags already packed by the door. He was ready to go home.

Day 31  
Rodney had been vibrating with nervous energy. His time of incarceration – he refused to call it a vacation – with his sister's family and the horde of grandchildren (well, all three of them) having kept a close eye on him finally over. He'd put up with all the specialists who'd found nothing excessively wrong with him (he could have told them that), but at least he knew he could return to Atlantis – and John – with a healthy prognosis.

Finally – finally – FINALLY, John was standing before him, having been beamed into the SGC Gateroom (along with a lot of other anonymous people, nobody important as far as Rodney was concerned). After setting a couple of expensive-looking cases down on the floor, John hugged Rodney. Rodney clung to his shoulders in desperation. 

Atlantis, Day 1 (of the rest of their lives)

Rodney was still lying in bed, their amazingly perfect bed, when John approached with a cup of – well, it wasn't coffee. Rodney accepted it with the ghost of a scowl, but really he was too relieved to be back home, especially with John.

Rodney wasn't expecting to see John extending a package toward him. "What's this?"

"Just a souvenir from my special mission. Remember, I told you I'd have a present for you and thought you'd appreciate it."

Rodney grabbed it – after all, a present was still a present – and ripped the paper off. It – it was a medium-sized bottle of those silly, weird-tasting buds that some people liked to sprinkle on top of smoked salmon. But, why...?

John managed to turn the bottle around so he could see the label. It was obviously hand-made, crudely drawn onto sticky-backed paper.

Rodney stared and stared at it. Finally, he couldn't hold it in and began to cackle with uncontrollable laughter. "You – you – so _this_ was your secret mission? Or, rather, 'caper'? And the C.I.A. was really...-"

John was laughing as well. He finished Rodney's sentence. "Yeah, it was the _other_ C.I.A. - Culinary Institute of America. I wanted us both to remember this time, especially as it wasn't much fun for you. I'm sure our kids will enjoy hearing all about it when we get together for a special dinner tonight in the Polaris dining room. I'll be cooking for our table."

"So, you weren't ever consulting with _that_ other C.I.A.?"

"Nah. Between your health concerns and all my free time, I wanted to learn how to cook the healthiest meals – for _both_ of us – as long as they appealed to all of our senses. Even I got slightly nauseated after I heard of that carrot muffin disaster."

Rodney grimaced. "At least you didn't have to eat any of those concoctions. Jeannie even showed me the book by the Canadian Heart Association from about 50 years ago that she'd picked up at a third-hand bookstore."

"Well, I promise I'll never cook anything as uncompromisingly unpleasant ever. Neither will any of our new chefs."

"Chefs? What new chefs?"

"Weren't you paying any attention to all of the newcomers, all two dozen, who came through the Gate with us?"

"No. I was just relieved to be going home. I thought they were yours, though they didn't exactly look _military_ , even by today's standards."

"Well, that was my other mission. While I was learning how to cook, myself, I was promoting Atlantis to the C.I.A. as a destination for the work component of their students' work-study requirement. Imagine having another galaxy on your résumé!"

Rodney grinned. "Especially if you eventually want to open up a 21st century version of 'Milliways'."

John's grin was just as broad as Rodney's. "Exactly."

"Do you know how much I love you?"

John gently removed the bottle from Rodney's hand. As smoked salmon was not on the day's menu, they wouldn't be needing the garnish. But, he figured, with their one-month separation, and having fallen asleep as soon as they'd arrived back last night, they needed something else much more.

"I know, which is why I wanted to show you how much I love you." It'd taken John many years to get to the place in his psyche that he was comfortable with saying what he felt, especially when it had to do with good feelings. And he had nothing but good feelings when it came to Rodney, their kids, and their home. No longer a quasi-military outpost, Atlantis was a beacon of hope for the future ... a future they'd managed to create for themselves and the hundreds of thousands of residents currently thriving on the city. It wasn't fully Utopian, but the lack of harmful pollution (or stupid politicians, John was certain Rodney would remind him) made it a city of not only faded legends but renewed dreams.

Rodney murmured in a voice more husky than sleepy, "Show me some more. Lots of time until dinner." He pulled John down to lie on top of him, lazily dragging the fingers of one hand through that head of thick, still-spiky white hair, then wondering whether John would be wearing chef's "whites" for dinner. He groaned.

John lifted his head from where he'd been gently nuzzling Rodney's neck. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, nothing. Just picturing you at dinner."

John smiled. Rodney had _no_ idea.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Prompt 101 from Romancing McShep 2016, posting day 11.**  
>  When (old, retired) Rodney's doctor tells him to start eating healthy or else, (also retired) John learns to cook healthy things that actually taste good.
> 
> 1*** As soon as I saw this prompt, I immediately jumped to the idea of having John attend the ::snickers:: C.I.A. I'd only heard of the place when I began watching cooking shows and loved the copy-cat acronym. The location John attended is a real C.I.A. branch campus – Greystone - in St. Helena (hey, I couldn't resist that particular location, though there are a few others), set in the Napa Valley (so he _wasn't_ lying about a valley, either). I also chose this branch as it currently offers a variety of types of courses, including continuing education and custom classes.
> 
> Considering how much money John should have at this point in his life, I'm sure he could have convinced this C.I.A. branch to offer a specialized 30-day course dedicated to creating exquisite-tasting yet supremely healthy dishes, which he obviously would be cooking for himself and Rodney back on Atlantis where they've retired. After all, who knows what might happen at this school by 2044!
> 
> 2*** So ... that hand-drawn label? How I wish I knew how to create it and offer it here. Look up the ::coughs:: traditional ::coughs:: C.I.A. logo. See the eagle's head atop the shield or banner. Keep the eagle's head (John did, just to aggravate Rodney!) but remove the sunburst on the shield, replacing it with a chef's hat over a crossed knife and fork. The ribbon above the eagle's head shows "Culinary Institute of America" instead of "Central Intelligence Agency". As for the contents, well, the only logical thing was for John to stuff the bottle with the largest CAPERS in the world!
> 
> 3*** I also made Lorne a General deliberately, liking the idea that he'd been promoted for merit, rather than just because so many others had died in _Last Man_. BTW, John retired as a full bird Colonel, the highest rank he was willing to accept before his and Rodney's retirements.
> 
> 4*** I actually baked those fake carrot muffins. And can _still_ remember how awful they were, despite their heart-healthy attributes. Blech.


End file.
